


Somewhere in the Night

by Lexalicious70



Category: Smallville
Genre: First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-06-14
Updated: 2004-06-14
Packaged: 2017-11-01 07:07:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/353534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lexalicious70/pseuds/Lexalicious70
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Clark is frightened by changes that he's going through, Lex lends a helping hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere in the Night

## Somewhere in the Night

by Shaman

[]()

* * *

Somewhere in the Night   
By Shaman   
Summary: When Clark is frightened by changes in himself that he doesn't understand, Lex lends a helping hand. Spoilers for: The Pilot (very light)  
Category: First time  
Archiving: Go for it!   
Feedback: I love getting email that isn't from PotteryBarn.com, so yes please! (twotrails4860@yahoo.com) General Disclaimer: I wish Millar/Gough would put these boys together and save us all the trouble. I also hope they don't read this and try to sue me. Story is an original piece of Clexfic by Shaman, all rights reserved. Please don't steal my storylines, it makes me angry. You wouldn't like me when I'm angry. Note: This story takes place shortly after "X-Ray." 

Somewhere in the Night   
By Shaman 

Gentle hands were stroking up and down his belly, making the muscles there jump and flutter. Soft lips brushed against his own, and soft sighs that might have been his own filled the air, sounds of desire and longing. 

The hands dipped down, and then slid up his inner thighs. A fingertip brushed across the pearly hardness of the head of his penis, and the sighs that he wasn't sure were his became impatient groans. The fingers multiplied until they became an open fist, and then that fist closed around his erection in a warm embrace. It began to stroke him in slow, langorous motions, up and down, up and down, until his breathing escalated into panting whimpers that caught on a breath as jagged as broken glass when he teetered on the edge of release. The hand paused a merest fraction of a second before squeezing him in a way that had him coming in spurts, nonsensical words tearing from his throat. Every muscle was tense and oh they were jerking and twitching as intense pleasure buzzed through his body like tendrils of molten silver. Twitching, gasping, muscles fluttering with aftershocks . . . oh, it was- 

Wet.   
Wet?   
Clark sat up in bed, the blankets puddled in his lap and the sheet wadded up underneath him into a sodden ball that made him disentangle his legs from it with a small cry of dismay. It was three a.m., and a quarter moon hung like a silver scythe in the sky outside Clark's window. Without turning on the light, Clark shook the remaining twist of wet sheet away from his legs and swung his feet to the floor. The front of his red and black plaid pajama bottoms were soaked as well, and his white briefs underneath were filled with a warm wetness that Clark pulled away from his skin with a small groan of disgust. Finally, he yanked both down and hopped out of both pieces of clothing, kicking them across the floor to let his damp skin dry in the warm air of his room. He glanced up at the sky outside his window, and noticed the time on the LED display of his alarm clock as he fished a pair of clean briefs from his dresser drawer. His heart was thumping and his body felt strangely languid on the inside, as if he had spent an hour napping in the sunshine. As he pulled the clean briefs up over his thighs, Clark winced at how sensitive his genitals seemed. Frightened by this event, Clark leaned over and picked up his sodden underwear and pajama pants. The fluid inside them was thick, sticky and a whitish-blue color that made him cringe. What was happening to him? Was he ill? Rolling the clothes up into a ball, Clark hid them behind his clothes hamper. The stuff, whatever it was, had a slightly sweet, spicy odor that was tinged with musk. Knowing he couldn't let his mother see, Clark shoved the hamper back against the wall as far as he could, and then crawled back into the unmade bed. Blinking back tears of fright, the fifteen-year-old curled up into a ball and fell back into a troubled sleep, his dream forgotten upon his awakening and never to be remembered. 

"Clark? Clark!" 

Clark blinked as Lex called his name, snapping him out of his troubled reverie. His best friend regarded him curiously as he poured a fifth of Glenfiddich into a round crystal tumbler edged with gold. "Are you okay, Clark?" He asked softly, his voice as smooth and liquid as the expensive scotch he drank. They sat in Lex's study in the golden light of the late afternoon, now becoming muted by storm clouds. Clark watched them roll in upon each other through the big bay window above Lex's desk, the thunderheads purplish-black and edged with flashes of lightning. Lex frowned. 

"Clark?" He prodded again, and the young boy's greenish-blue eyes finally turned his way. They held a quality of innocence that Lex cherished; everything about his own life was so tainted by his father's corruption that his own youthful innocence had long since departed. For that reason and many others, Lex had a deep affection for this boy who was six years his junior, yet had saved his life by pulling him from his submerged Porsche after Lex had skidded off a bridge and plunged into a deep creek. Upon regaining consciousness, Lex could have sworn he'd hit the broad-shouldered youth before both he and his car hit the water, but Clark had maintained that he'd jumped out of the way, and then had dived in after Lex. Of course, Lex still had no explanation of how the roof of the submerged Porsche had been peeled back, and Clark offered no clues. It still gnawed at Lex, that day on the bridge, but Clark's friendship often won out over his curiosity and Lex had to admit . . . there were other reasons he enjoyed having Clark around. Now, as the young teen's large, expressive eyes gazed at him, Lex shifted slightly in his chair and offered the boy a gentle smile. 

"I asked if you were okay." 

"Oh . . . I'm sorry Lex. I guess I was thinking about something else." Clark replied quietly, and Lex smirked a little, causing Clark to scowl in a way that made his eyes turn a fascinating shade of amber-green. 

"Not . . . that!" He insisted, and Lex chuckled. 

"Sorry. It's just that you're always talking about Lana Lang, so its only natural for me to assume you think about her all the time as well." 

"No, it wasn't Lana." Clark replied peevishly, and glanced out the window again. The big grandfather clock in the corner ticked away nearly thirty seconds, and finally Lex set down his glass. 

"Come on, Clark. You and I have been friends for over six months now. Can't you tell me what's wrong?" He asked as he got up and went to sit next to Clark on the big couch near the stained glass window. Clark shook his head, but Lex read fear in the boy's eyes. 

"I can't." 

"Why not? Have you done something illegal?" 

The sea-green eyes widened. "Of course not!" 

"Do you owe someone money? Is it your folks? Because you know that I can-" 

"No, Lex. It's not any of those things." Clark said quietly, and crossed his arms over his chest as though he was trying to protect himself from something. Lex put a hand on his shoulder. 

"Clark, please. Let me help." 

Clark looked up into the sympathetic blue-gray eyes of the man he had come to think of as his best friend, and heaved a long, shuddery sigh. 

"I think I'm sick, Lex." 

The young billionare frowned, but his hand didn't leave Clark's broad shoulder. "Sick . . . physically sick, you mean?" 

Clark nodded wordlessly, and Lex's frown deepened. The teenager was the very picture of youthful vitality; his skin color was a light peach-pink, his eyes were clear, and his skin and muscle tone spoke of a young boy who was becoming a man. Lex cleared his throat and tried not to look any further. 

"You, ah . . . you look all right to me, Clark." 

"It's not something you can see, Lex!" Clark fretted. "It's on the inside!" 

"Why don't you explain to me exactly what your symptoms are, Clark? I've got a friend at John Hopkins and I know a little about medicine." 

Clark's fair skin darkened with a blush, but he had come to Lex with hopes of telling his friend what was happening when he hadn't been able to tell his parents. Jonathan and Martha Kent loved their adopted son without limits, but Clark knew if he had to sit at the breakfast table and discuss with his mother the contents of his wet pajama bottoms, he would no doubt die of shame. 

"I . . . I'm not sure what it is, Lex. It's happened to me every night this week." 

That caused Lex's expression to turn bemused, but he only poured himself more scotch as he nodded for Clark to continue. 

"I've been dreaming alot at night, and even though I don't remember the dreams when I wake up, I always wake up . . . . uh . . . wet." The last word was almost a whisper and Lex Luthor, who could stare down the coldest of international businessmen without batting an eyelash, fumbled his glass and nearly dropped it. He finally managed to set the tumbler down it's stone coaster and gaze at his young friend with a mixture of disbelief and sympathy. Clark's full lips tightened when he saw Lex's face. "It's not funny." 

"I'm not laughing. You just startled me, that's all." Determination set Lex's mouth in a grim line and he gave Clark his full attention as thunder began to mutter outside. 

"You wake up wet?" He asked gently, and Clark nodded. 

"I wake up wet and the sheets are usually all pulled out and twisted around." Clark explained, and Lex was hard pressed not to let that image rise up in his mind. Struggling to remain analytical, he cleared his throat. 

"And this, ah . . . wetness? It's not-" 

"No!" Clark almost shouted, horrified that Lex might think such a thing. "I've never done- that! Not even when I was little!" 

Almost relieved, Lex chuckled. "Clark, you're not sick. What's happening to you happens to every boy about your age, or sometimes even younger." He picked up his scotch and sipped it. "Clark, has your father ever talked to you about sex?" 

"Sure." Clark shrugged. "We've had that talk, and it's hard not to live on a farm for twelve years and not see the theory put into more literal terms." 

"Of course." Lex allowed, unsure of how much further he could step into Jonathan Kent's parental territory. Of course he had told the boy about the birds and the bees, so to speak, but he hadn't told Clark about the dozens of other things that might plauge a teenage boy as he grew into manhood . . . or the urges that came with it. 

"So he told you about sex." Lex mused, and a part of him greatly enjoyed watching Clark squirm at his words. 

"Yeah, of course. What did you mean, Lex, when you said what's happening to me happens to all the other boys my age?" 

Lex wrestled with himself before answering his young friend. When he did, he fought to keep his voice steady. 

"Clark, the dreams you've been having are called wet dreams. The dreams are usually very sexual, and even though you're asleep, your body responds." Lex noticed the blank look on Clark's face and frowned. "Clark? Do you understand what I'm saying?" 

"Where does the, uh . . . the stuff come from?" Clark asked, and Lex's mouth dropped open. No. Surely a boy of fifteen had already discovered . . . Lex closed his eyes briefly, aware that he'd gotten himself into a discussion that Clark should have been having with his father. 

"Clark, maybe you should ask your dad about these things." He suggested, and Clark shook his dark head rapidly. 

"I can't, Lex! If I ask him, he'll tell my mom and then I'll have to explain about the sheets and my clothes, and I can't do that! Please Lex, you're my best friend and you obviously know something about what I'm going through! Please, help me out!" The sea foam eyes pleaded with him, and Lex could no more refuse him than he could have refused a shivering kitten caught in the rain. 

"Okay." He sighed, picking up his scotch and sipping it generously before setting it aside again. "Let's start at the beginning then, Clark. You say your dad gave you 'the talk,' but yet you don't know about what's happening to you at night?" 

"What does one have to do with the other?" Clark demanded, and the boy's naivety struck Lex to the bone. God, by the time he'd turned fifteen he'd already lost his virginity and had dabbled in a few other sexual experiments that no doubt would turn Martha Kent's red hair white if she was to hear of them. Now here was Clark, three months past his fifteenth birthday, and the boy didn't even understand the workings of his own body. 

"Clark, the dreams you're having are no doubt sexual, and it's causing you to climax in your sleep. To . . . uh, to come. The wetness you feel when you wake up is semen." 

A flicker of understanding dawned in Clark's eyes as he made connections with that word and his father's talk of mating bulls and cows. "Oh." He said finally, relieved that he wasn't sick after all. "So what does it mean, Lex? That I'm ready to have sex, or that I'm not a little kid anymore?" 

Lex tried very hard not to connect those two thoughts, and reminded himself firmly that despite Clark's size and sweet good looks, he was still only a kid who was barely past his fifteenth birthday. 

"Your body's maturity has nothing to do with your readiness to have sex, Clark. You'll know when you're ready. It has to be with the right girl, someone who loves and respects you, and you have to be ready in your mind." 

Clark nodded thoughtfully as the thunder outside grew louder. "Have you ever had sex, Lex?" 

The young billionare's hands jerked at the question and he folded them neatly into his lap. "I, ah . . . . yes, Clark. I have. Several . . . . times." He admitted, and Clark's eyes sparked with interest. 

"So what's it like? Can you tell me?" 

Oh, God. 

"Well . . . it's very pleasureable, of course. You feel the same things that you feel when you have those dreams." He explained softly, and Clark shook his head. 

"I never remember those dreams when I wake up, Lex. I feel kind of drained and worn out when I wake up, but that's all." Clark paused and thought of the talk he'd sometimes heard in the locker room at Smallville High, talk from the older guys about girls and what they did on dates, or tried to get the girls to do to them. Suddenly everything Lex had told him and what he'd heard came together like a plug fitting into an electrical outlet. He looked up at Lex in shock, and an affectionate, knowing smile curved across the older boy's face. 

"Yes, Clark." He said quietly, although the quality of their discussion up until now had given him an aching erection. He hoped that his folded hands hid it well enough. Clark's gaze moved from Lex's face to his lap even as that thought flitted through his mind, and his own gaze slid up to meet the younger boy's. The air between them jumped with electricity as lightning flashed outside the big bay window. Lex swallowed hard. 

"Clark . . . " 

"Because of me?" He asked, and inched closer to his friend. Lex broke out in a light sweat as he smelled Clark's scent; Ivory soap, crisp cotton, and something underneath that was so undeniably male that it made Lex catch his breath. 

"Clark, please. It's not . . . " 

"No, Lex, it's okay." Clark smiled and put his hand on Lex's shoulder. "Please . . . I want you to show me. I want you to be the one." 

Clark's words only made Lex ache harder. "Clark, no. You're fifteen, and I . . . I'm . . . " 

"You're my best friend. That makes it okay. Please, Lex. I want it to be you." 

A strangled whine escaped Lex's throat and he leaned forward quickly, negating the space between them and touching his lips to Clark's as the storm outside came upon Smallville full force, unleashing torrents of rain and drowning out Lex's eager sounds as he kissed Clark again and again. Clark responded with a muffled yelp of surprise, but then leaned back against the couch, surrendering to the older boy. Lex slipped his hands under Clark's yellow tee shirt, caressing the smooth skin and hard muscle. Clark groaned softly in response and Lex yanked the thin shirt up to reveal golden skin and tight, dusky nipples. Lex lowered his head to one of the hard buds and covered it with his mouth, making Clark cry out softly in pleasure. His erection, hard and thick against the fabric of his Armani trousers, pressed into Clark's groin urgently. He felt an answering hardness there, amazed by the boy's size. A part of inside cried out for him to stop, that this wrong, even illegal, but the feel of Clark's skin and the taste of him drowned out everything else. Lex slid his hand down to cup the boy's erection, and Clark cried out softly again. Lex unbuttoned the faded jeans and slid them down as Clark lifted his hips in complete compliance. The shape of his erection was plainly visible through the white briefs he wore, and he smiled up at Lex almost shyly. Lex hesitated again; he knew once he pulled down those underwear and that longing flesh was revealed to him that there'd be no turning back. Lex licked his lips. 

"Clark . . ." 

"Please, Lex." Clark begged softly. "Please show me." 

"All right." Lex replied, and gently tugged the boy's briefs down. The size of him amazed Lex all over again, and with a hand that trembled slightly, he reached out and gently curled his fingers around the hard flesh. Clark let out a high, breathy gasp, and Lex smiled up at him. 

"My God, Clark." He whispered. "Haven't you ever touched yourself before?" 

Clark shook his head a little. "Not . . . not really, no. Uh!" Clark sat up slightly as Lex began to stroke him slowly and carefully. The older boy's blue-gray eyes never left Clark's startled aquamarine ones. 

"If I keep doing this, you're going to come." Lex explained over the sounds of the storm outside. Clark relaxed again, hypnotized by the sight of his own flesh captured in Lex's pale hand. He squirmed against the couch, his jeans and underwear trapping him from the thighs down. He felt strange, lightheaded . . . submissive. His sable eyelashes swept down in contentment as he gave into the sensations Lex was giving him. The heard Lex chuckle. 

"Feels good, doesn't it?" 

"Yes . . . oh God, Lex yes." 

Reveling in the feel of so much warm, hard flesh throbbing and twitching in his hand, Lex felt his own erection begin to ache with the want of release. He reached down with his free hand and unzipped his slacks, pulling his cock free. Clark opened his eyes and looked down, his eyes wide. Lex smiled gently. 

"Don't do anything that you don't want to, Clark." 

"I . . . I think I want to." Clark reached out and did exactly what he'd seen Lex do a few moments earlier. Lex's eyes closed briefly, and a small amount of pre-seminal fluid leaked onto Clark's hand. Without giving it a whole lot of thought Clark began to echo Lex's movements, stroking the pale, hard flesh. They went on like this for several more minutes, and suddenly Clark felt a strange tightening sensation in his groin and lower belly. His eyes widened, and Lex smiled as he watched his friend's expression go from amazed to completely rapturous. He mouth dropped open in a breathy gasp as his cock jerked furiously in Lex's hand, finally giving up it's load of hot seed. The look on Clark's face was all Lex needed. He released his own hot load into Clark's hand, and the two of them slumped back, breathing hard. Outside, the rain tapered off to a light drizzle, and it beat gently against the bay windows. Clark opened his eyes and looked at Lex, who gave him a satisfied, almost cocky smile in return. 

"Is that what it's like?" Clark asked, and Lex chuckled again. 

"That? No, Clark. That was just foreplay. The real thing is . . . . well, a little more invasive." He explained. Clark considered this, and then pulled up his jeans and underwear. Lex ducked into the bathroom off the study and came back with a warm wet cloth for Clark to clean his hands. Once the boy's hands were dry, Lex took the cloth back. The younger boy seemed pensive and almost shy now, and Lex reached up to stroke his dark hair gently. 

"Please don't be sorry." 

"I'm not." Clark replied, and flashed his even white teeth in a smile that made Lex's heart race. 

"Then what's wrong?" 

"Nothing, I . . . I just wanted to thank you. For, um, you know, showing me. That it's okay. That its normal." 

"I don't know if you could call what we just did normal, Clark." Lex repiled. The boy's eyes flashed. 

"Yes it was! It felt . . . it felt right!" 

Lex found that he couldn't argue that point. It had felt right, like two pieces of a puzzle fitting together. "What about Lana?" He asked. 

"I have feelings for her." Clark shrugged. "But I also have feelings for you. I always have, ever since that day at the bridge." 

This declaration made Lex's throat go dry, and he felt tears, unexpected and unashamed, behind his eyes. 

"Clark . . . " 

The sea-green eyes seemed to look into his very soul. "It's all right, Lex." He replied, and embraced his friend. After a long moment, Lex's arms came up to return the embrace. They stood like that for a long time, listening to the rain, the wind, and the sound of each other's hearts. For each of them, neither of whom had never felt as if they had belonged anywhere, being in that warm embrace had a feeling of coming home. 


End file.
